


it's so simple, a feeling, but it's everything

by wonthetrade



Series: that girl is a goddamn problem [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8104183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: It was always about her hockey first and that sure as hell hasn't changed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you got here by googling yourself or someone you know, turn back now. Thanks!
> 
> There were rumours floating around that Eichs was going to be one of the healthy scratches for this afternoon's game. We agreed this needed to be done before then. Enjoy! (*crosses fingers and toes and hides in corner for NA v Sweden*)

They burst through the door to her condo, laughing, giggling, kissing. She hits the wall with a thump, Connor’s not insubstantial weight holding her still as he angles her head up for another kiss. Her mouth is already red and bruised - he’d wasted no time in the elevator before wrapping his hand into her hair to bite at her mouth - but she lets him kiss her anyway, her hands fisting in his coat. She makes a noise and tugs at it, his hands already plucking at the buttons of her blouse, trying to get his hands on her skin.

“Faster,” he says against her mouth.

“What are you waiting for?” she retorts and arches against him in a tempting bend of her spine. “An engraved invitation?”

She still gasps when he ends up yanking at her blouse, the buttons popping off. She doesn’t have time to scold him before he’s leaning in, mouth at her collarbone as his hands tug hard at her clothes. “Okay, okay, wait-”

“Hurry up, hurry up; wait. Which one do you want?” he asks her skin and it makes her growl. He’s the one that’s desperate for it, she’d known it since her first filthy goal of the game, could feel his eyes on her every time she’d been on the ice. It had been her game, from start to finish, and Connor’s never made a secret of how much Jack’s hockey gets him going.

“Fuck you, just don’t rip my clothes, neanderthal.”

He makes an offended noise and ducks his head, wraps his mouth around her breast through the thin cotton of her bra and sucks. Jack cries out, can’t help herself, writhes against him a little. It serves to dislodge her clothes from her shoulders and Jack yanks at her blouse to drop it all to the floor. His hands race over her then, pull at her bra straps until she growls and reaches behind her, unhooking the offending garment and dropping it on top of her growing pile of clothing.

His mouth is back on her immediately, his hands squeezing her hips as he trails his fingers along the waistband of her pants, makes short, quick work of shucking them and her panties to the floor in one go. Jack whimpers, loves him like this where he doesn’t even think of his own clothes, no longer stoic and composed. He’s desperate enough that he bites into her collarbone and she’s going to have a hell of a bruise there in the morning.

She shivers as his hands dance lower, over her hips and her thighs. She swallows once, twice, tries to grab enough air and brain cells to get him naked in response. Instead, she whimpers as he slides his fingers between her thighs and sucks at her nipple in the same movement.

“Fuck, oh my god.”

He hums into her skin and Jack has to take more than a few deep breaths before she can get enough coordination to reach for him, sliding her fingers under his collar. He shivers this time, his whole body vibrating with it and he groans as he lifts his head and kisses her again. It’s hard to multitask, to pick at his buttons as fast as her shaking hands will let her when he’s kissing her so thoroughly, when every press of his mouth and thrust of his tongue makes her think of the fingers still between her thighs.

Connor pulls away, and it makes her whimper. She wants him back closer, she wants all of the weight of him, the warmth of his skin, real for once instead of through a screen and across the country. “Just-”

He yanks at his own coat, his own shirt, his jacket. Jack lets herself look, loves that she can, the strength of him and the way he’s filled out from that baby-faced idiot she’d met and hated at the 2015 draft. He’s the one that reaches for his pants, that makes quick work of his belt, his fly. He pulls a condom from his pocket before he shoves the rest of his clothes down, steps out of them. Then he’s reaching for her again, getting a hand on her hamstring to lift her leg, wrap it around his hip. She’s never been so grateful for their close heights.

“I can’t,” he starts around the condom packet but Jack’s there with him, reaching for it, ripping it open in her teeth. He takes it from her, a wry smile in the corner of his mouth as he slides it on clinically. Then he’s tipping her hips, sliding inside the slick heat of her. “Fuck.”

Fuck indeed, she thinks, anchors her leg a little better around his hip to give herself leverage. It’s fast and dirty, a grind as much as it is Connor’s hips working against hers. He growls into her ear like he’s so close, slides his hand down again and presses hard and fast and _right_. Jack goes off, bites into his shoulder to keep herself from screaming and takes him over the edge with her.

She comes to in a heap on the floor, Connor right there with her, their clothes a scattered, wrinkled mess. He’s still panting into her neck and Jack can’t help the laughter that bubbles up her throat. She tangles her hand in his hair, tips his head back to find glassy, pleasure-filled eyes.

She hums as she kisses him, then pulls back enough to say, “You really like my hockey, huh?”

It’s not near as smug as she’d meant it to be but he smiles anyway, a little dopey. “Even you were kind of stunned by your goal.”

“Sid showed me a thing or two at her school this summer,” she murmurs into his head, dropping a kiss there because she can. Her chest goes tight and she knows her hands do too because Connor makes a noise.

“Right here,” he says, because it’s not the first time her reaction has been surprisingly koala-like. She hates when she gets like this, a little clingy after an orgasm in real life instead of by her own hand. “I’m real. I love you. Can we please get off the floor and into a shower.”

God, she really does love him to bits, the easy way he throws the emotion in - still hard words for her to say, whether he needs them or not - and kind of chirps her at the same time. The pissy tone makes it work and she giggles into his shoulder. “You first.”

She smirks when his legs shake a little but he merely offers her a sheepish grin of his own and holds out a hand. She takes it, gasps as she stands and her muscles re-engage. They share a laugh as he tugs her in and kisses her, sweet and soft. She bites her lip as he pulls away, aware all of the emotion she feels for him is all over her face. It leaves her naked, emotionally as much as she is physically, but here, in her condo, she’s safe. Here, with him and no one else, she’s safe.

“Your feelings are showing,” he says quietly, even as his finger brushes inexplicably over her eyebrow, then more logically over the apple of her cheek. Her face is still warm, probably blotchy, but it’s never bothered him. Instead he leans in, pressing his lips against her cheek and holds there for a beat, then two. She lets her hand ghost down his side, easy and light now that the desperation has passed.

“You’re not doing any better there, bud,” she murmurs and nuzzles his cheek. He laughs, this choked-sounding thing and god does Jack get that. “Shower,” she says, in lieu of everything else that’s clogging her chest. “I’m sticky.”

He smirks, but links his hand with hers and tugs her along to her own ensuite. The shower has more than enough space for both of them and she lets him fuss with the temperature, content in ways she so rarely is to just stand there with him. He disposes of the condom with a wrinkle of his nose as the water heats, then reaches back for her when he’s deemed the water just right. Jack lets him help her into the shower, presses up against him under the spray. They kiss as the water pounds against his back, runs over her hands where she’s settled them on either side of his lower spine. He cradles her head and palms her ass and Jack can’t help the way her heart swells in her chest.

It creeps up on her sometimes, just how fiercely she loves him and these quiet moments he gives her. It’s been a few years now since the rivalry narrative had been their only story and Jack’s been more than happy to pass the torch to Auston, then further down the line. Connor is fastidious about keeping their relationship out of the press and Jack knows it’s not out of a deference to that rivalry narrative, but because he looks at this, the way he can make her soft and pliant and smooth some of the hard edges, as _his_. Moments like this, holding each other close, are not for anyone else’s eyes. Just his, and she knows by the way he touches her that he cherishes it, just as much as he enjoys how incendiary they can be.

She crowds in close so she can reach the soap he uses, on the shelf with hers. He kisses her shoulder as she lathers up her hands, then drags them down his body again. They’d showered at the rink, of course, but Jack likes this too, the smell of him wafting up into the steam. She doesn’t miss it, per se, but it’s definitely nicer having it.

It’s quiet in the shower as they wash up, his broad hands warm on her thighs and around her biceps as he takes his time. They kiss and kiss between steps, as they take turns rinsing off. Connor gets handsy first, slipping both palms around to her ass, pulling her close enough that she can feel the way he’s starting to get hard again. Jack arches into it, kisses him a little harder, with a little more intent. He laughs into her mouth.

“Gotta dry off first. You hate damp sheets.”

She shivers instinctively - she hates damp everything really - and lets him pull her out of the shower and into her towel. Once they’re dry, Jack’s the one to lead the way, stopping at the edge of her bed to turn. She reaches for him, but he’s already there, leaning down with that same, slow thoroughness that always makes Jack think of their lives long after hockey’s done, this quiet cottage in the middle of nowhere he’ll talk her into spending months in until she drags him back to the city, too sick of the quiet and needing the chaos.

But he’s also hard against her stomach and she takes him in hand. He gasps into her mouth, a sound that is always so endlessly gratifying. She keeps her hand slow, absorbing the feel of him in her palm. His hands grip her waist, shuffle her back even as he drops his head to her shoulder.

“Want my mouth?” she murmurs, “or just like this.”

“Neither,” he manages and tumbles her to the bed. She squeaks, unprepared because dammit, she’s not that easy to shove around, but Connor merely presses a quick kiss to her stomach, then climbs up beside her. “Like this.”

He’s tugging on her, pulling her leg over his until she laughs and rolls over to straddle him. He sighs, this little pleased thing as she plants her hands on his chest, rocks her hips.

“Don’t want to do the work?” she asks as she leans in, kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek.

He laughs, thrusts up where she’s getting wet again. “I like watching you.”

Fuck. Damn him, because he says the same thing about her hockey and she knows for a damn fact that she’ll never be able to hear him say that again in any context without thinking a bit of this, of him naked beneath her, flushed from the shower and desperate sex against the wall in her goddamn front hall.

“Fuck me,” she replies breathlessly.

“If you get a condom.”

This time she laughs and pushes up against his chest, dragging her fingers along his skin and over his nipple just to feel him shake. She doesn’t dawdle with the condom; it’s not about the tease. She wants him inside her, yesterday, and sighs when he slides inside for the second time that night.

She’s going to regret it in the morning, all of this exertion after a gorgeous game, but she doesn’t care. They have less than twenty-four hours together and she’s going to make this last. Barring snatched time that they manage to cobble together and maybe the All Star Game in January, it’ll be another four months before they see each other again. Her chest goes tight.

“Hey.” Fuck, she hates when it’s all over her face, or, well, when Connor can read her so well. He cups her cheek, smiles a little when she tilts her head into his hand. “Worry tomorrow.”

He’s not worried. He can’t, it’s not in his nature, the same way it’s not in hers. She doesn’t know how they do it sometimes, fight the distance and their schedules and the damn NHL. But they’ve made it this far, maybe solely because they’re both stubborn and Jack takes a deep breath before she moves her hips, a slow, delicious grind that makes him drop his hand to her thigh with a groan. She keeps her pace languid, slow, closing her eyes to feel every inch of him inside her, his hips between her thighs, the deliberate caress of his hands over her skin.

Where the hallway had been rough and tumble, fast and hard, this is slow, methodical. Jack maximizes every move of her hips just to hear him moan and whimper, bites her lip when he slides his thumb between her thighs and over her clit. It takes longer, both of them no longer riding that edge, a little sleepy, languid, in no hurry for this orgasm. She rides him until her thighs burn again, his breath hitching and head thrown back.

“I thought you wanted to watch me,” she pants and it’s the farthest thing from composed. His thumb circles just right around her clit and she groans, feels the way her body tenses up, right on that pleasured edge.

“I do,” he says and she watches him grit his teeth, feels the way he releases her hip to clench at the sheets beside her knee. The look in his eyes makes her gasp when he finally pries them open, hot and adoring and absolutely certain. This is where he wants to be; despite the distance and how naturally prickly she is, he wants to be with her.

She swallows, speeds up, circles her hips a little until his thumb is pressing just off to the left, right where she needs it. It takes a few more sharp thrusts before she comes and he wraps his arms around her, sitting up with one arm behind him to get that last bit of leverage he needs to follow her over. He clings when she starts to shift, sighs when she combs her hand through his hair.

“I love you,” she can’t help whispering into the silence, just barely loud enough for him to catch. It feels important right now, something he needs to hear when she so often refuses to say it.

He hums and kisses her sternum, tilting his head up. “When’s your contract up again?”

It makes her laugh, takes away some of the vulnerability of the moment, but it feels good nonetheless. They both know she won’t leave Buffalo, the same way he won’t leave Edmonton, not when they’re invested now. Not when they have matching gold medals from South Korea hanging in their Toronto place, a handful of World’s titles between them, and still no Cup rings. They have things to do before they seriously consider alternatives.

“We need sleep,” he finally says, and dumps her unceremoniously to the bed. He laughs at her indignant sound and leans over to kiss the closest patch of skin he can find before pushing himself up . She takes the hand he once again holds out to her, laughs with him when she stumbles against his chest.

“I love you too, you know,” he says into her temple. “A lot.”

“More than hockey?” she asks and lets him tug them to the bathroom.

He snorts. “Kind of an unfair comparison.”

She sits on the counter while he disposes of the condom, tosses the still damp cloth from the shower her way. He bullies his way between her knees as she drops the cloth to the sink, cupping her skull in his palms so he can kiss her again. Jack sighs into it, happy, content.

At an ungodly hour of the morning, he’ll wake her up to say goodbye, kiss her at the door even though her hair will be a mess and she’ll be the grumpiest she ever gets. If they’re lucky, they’ll sneak time at Christmas. If they’re luckier they’ll share the All Star Game together, but for now, she’ll take this, she wants this.

For now, this will be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> SO MUCH OTP. Come scream with us about it on [Tumblr](http://wonthetrade.tumblr.com)
> 
> *This went through a super fast edit to get it up in time, hopefully there aren't too many typos!


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